I tried to warn him, I tried to explain to him. I just...never found the perfect time. There were perfect times, really, but I never realized until the time was long gone.

Or perhaps I'm just a bloody coward.

That's probably it. Ravenclaws weren't meant to be brave. We just sat in the library minding our own business. Well, I did. Sort of. When I wasn't off snogging or socializing or something. But those days are long gone! Like, three years long gone! Now I'm engaged—

I'm engaged. Me, Cassie Quillton, pure blood extraordinaire. To Logan North, American Muggle.
At least I wasn't too scared to tell my parents and mates. They were all so thrilled! Which is why I made sure not to tell them when I was meeting the Norths. Or that they're Muggles. Or that they're American. This is a secret that is mine to keep. Or at least reveal later.

Oh, fuck it. I'm a Ravenclaw. I just know this is going to end terribly. So why can't I summon the courage to sit Logan down and tell him my secret? Why do I keep sending letters with half-truths to my friends and family?

All I've got to do is corner Logan, privately, and come out with it. And scribble Logan’s and my love story on a piece of parchment and send it out with my owl. Simple enough. For sure.

Wrong.

What if Logan calls off the engagement? What if he just laughs? What if he thinks I'm mentally unstable? What if he stops loving me?! I would die.

And with my family and friends, they love Muggles, they do. They're not racist (or bloodist?). But they love James Potter, too, my ex-boyfriend. They would use that as an opportunity to get us back together. Honestly, my family, the matchmakers. They love to meddle too much! They would say James and I have more in common than Logan and I. That would suck, and I'd feel terrible.

"Awesome," he says, kissing me. Every time we kiss feels like the first. I always feel dizzy and a little high. "Let's go." We grab out bags and head out into the cool September morning. The cab driver is smiling and friendly, and he helps put our bags in the trunk.

"So, King's Cross?" the driver asks, looking at us through his rearview mirror. It scares me some because one eye is green, the other blue.

Logan sighs. “Okay, fine,” he says, holding his hands up. “Truth is, I’m not gay, and I heard it from a co-worker. She was complaining about her sex life and said that’s what she wanted. To celebrate her and her husband’s love everyday of the year.”

“A simple ‘I heard it from a co-worker’ would’ve sufficed,” the cabbie jokes. “And…I have a feeling you made that up.”

We wave goodbye to our cab driver, laughing. He beeps his horn twice and drives off.

"We made it with time to spare," Logan says, checking his phone. He pockets it and says, "Let's get our tickets then grab a bite to eat."

"We just ate before we left!" I tell him.

He smiles. "Come on. I'm a growing boy."

I kiss him. "I thought I was marrying a man, not a boy."

He rolls his eyes, and we get in line to buy tickets. As we stand in line, I take in our surroundings. I sneak a peek at the stations, and I spot the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Ah, the memories of Hogwarts. A family walks up to the barrier, two young children pushing carts. There's an owl on one cart and a mewing cat on the other. A third child, younger than the other two, skips around them. The mother chastens her youngest, and the child stops skipping at once and takes her mother's hand. The father stands in front of the barrier, facing the children. He seems to be speaking to the middle child, an innocent-looking boy with big blue eyes. The father than gestures to the barrier, and it finally clicks. How had I not realized this before?

"Oh, Merlin," I whisper to myself. "This isn't good."

"What's that?" Logan asks, taking a step forward in line.

I shake my head. "Nothing. Um...what's today's date?"

He frowns and pulls out his iPhone. "Saturday September first." He looks at me and waves the phone in front of my face. "You sure you don't want me to buy one of these for you? Really, it's no big deal. You can't live in today's society without a cell phone, Cassie."

Too bad I don't live in the society you're thinking of, I think to myself.

"I don't need it," I say. "I work from our flat. All I need is our landline." I smile. Plus, I want to add, I have no idea how to use that. Because I'm a witch. And witches don't have phones. We're quite an archaic society. I didn't know how to use a computer until I met you. And I really don't work from our flat. I just write articles for newspapers, and they give me money. I don't need a job because I'm a fucking pureblood; I have so much money that we could fill a pool with it. But it's not the money you're familiar with, so that is that. And I probably made no sense whatsoever.

"So Saturday September first," I repeat, smiling. "Great."

He looks at me funny. "Yeah." He composes himself and starts tapping away on that iPhone. "Smile!" he exclaims and holds the phone up to our faces. I grin and see myself reflected in the phone. I look good. Wavy brown locks, chocolate brown eyes, slightly tanned skin, and a heart-shaped face. And Logan is as handsome as ever. A shock of thick, dark hair, beautiful brown eyes, strong cheekbones, and thick-rimmed glasses poised perfectly on his nose.

"We look sexy," I laugh.

"Definitely going up on Facebook," he says. The screen changes, and he's on Facebook—a site that I recognize and use. He tags me in the photo and taps his chin thoughtfully. He then speaks as he types. "King's Cross with the almost-wifey. Mom and Dad, this is your future daughter-in-law. Isn't she gorgeous?" He presses the POST button as I exclaim, "Wait!"

He laughs and kisses me again. "They'll love you. Trust me. Almost as much as I love you." I hug him tightly and we take another step forward in this never-ending line.

I look around, praying that the witches and wizards here don’t recognize my face. But, of course, I spot one.

And he spots me.

"Cassiopeia!"

I whip my head around, staring at a spot over Logan’s shoulder. My muscles tense, and I try to act casual. But he’s noticed my discomfort.

You are not Cassiopeia, I chant in my head. Nor Pia or Sopia or Sophie. You are Cassie Quillton, almost Cassie North. You're just a love-struck twenty-one year old girl on her way to meet her in-laws-to-be. Okay. Calm. Oh, crap, are those footsteps? Are those his footsteps? Oh, Rowena, help me! Wait, I’m in a bloody train station. Of course there are bloody footsteps everywhere. It can’t possibly be—

"Pia," he says. I nearly jump. He's right behind me. I try to pretend not to hear, but it's quite hard. I feel myself shaking.

"Cassie," Logan says to me, nodding to the person behind me.

I try to make an "I don't know him" face and shake my head. But I must have done something wrong because he knits his eyebrows together in worry.

He makes a face. "No! I wouldn't dare socialize with her! She's a bitch of a Slytherin!" He then realizes what he's said. He nearly slaps a hand to his mouth but thinks better of it. My mind races to think of a cover. Albus's eyes are everywhere; he's trying to plan his next move.

"Slytherin?" Logan asks. He frowns in confusion.

"It's a sorority!" I blurt out. Al smiles in approval.

"Really? Wow, you Brits have weird sorority names." Logan laughs.

"Yep, we're the crazy-arse Brits," Al says, smiling and rolling his eyes. He checks his watch. "Oh, I have to go." He shakes hands with Logan again and gives me an awkward hug. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Logan North. Good seeing you again, Pia—er, Cassie. I wish you two the best in your relationship."

"Thank you," Logan says.

"Thanks, Al." We hug again. "Give your family my love."

He raises an eyebrow. Even James? his expression asks. I nod. Even James.

"All right," he says. "Will do." He salutes, grinning, and runs off towards the platforms.